Wilby Wonderful - Contact
Name: Moonloon
Fic title: Contact
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Prompt: Dan's car breaks down. Duck goes to get him.
Notes: Thank you to thepouncer, mousewrites and slashpile for convincing me that it didn't go wrong and spanking the bits that did back into shape. I have to admit, I didn't take all their advice, so if something is wrong, assume they told me and I'm just stubborn ;)
Contact
Duck didn't have a cell phone. The way he saw it, if anyone wanted to speak to him that badly, they'd be able to find him. If he wasn't at his house, he'd be with his truck, and his truck kind of stood out.
"Follow the smell of paint," Duck said, when someone asked him how to find him during working hours. Duck got used to seeing exasperation on people's faces.
Duck didn't ever consider getting a cell until Dan appeared in his life. Dan, with his long legs, shy smile, and self-destructive nature. Dan, who made Duck break all his self-imposed rules (Don't do married men. Don't do guys with issues. Don't do guys you could fall in love with.) without even asking him to. Dan arrived in Duck's life bruised and lost, with three changes of clothes and a pharmacy bag of anti-depressants, which he stopped taking the day he got out of the hospital.
Duck put Dan in the spare room, but he didn't stay there long. Duck had all these noble intentions, but he'd only got halfway through a clumsy 'when you're ready' speech when Dan lunged at him, and they ended up wriggling all over each other on the kitchen floor. At least until Dan thumped his head on the table leg and they decided that Duck's bed would be a better venue.
Duck grinned all the next morning, as he painted the north wall of the community centre. Then, while he was washing his hands and thinking about where to sit and have his lunch, the thought crossed his mind What if last night was just a happy memory to take with him? So he phoned home using the telephone in the community centre, and Dan was making a sandwich.
Worrying didn't come naturally to Duck. It wasn't something he'd done before, other than the ordinary concern you had for friends and neighbours. You made your choices and life went on. Things would go bad or they wouldn't; worrying about it wouldn't change things.
But there wouldn't be a 'life goes on' if Dan decided to finish what he'd started on the bridge and in Mrs French's living room. Not after what happened on the kitchen floor. Not after what had happened in the bed, and the shower, and on the couch, and in the cab of the truck. Plenty of bad things had happened to Duck through the years, but he knew losing Dan would break him. So Duck worried quietly and phoned home whenever he got the chance. Not to check up on Dan, just to say hi, and ask if he wanted anything picked up on the way home, or remind him about the laundry, or ask him if he wanted to go fishing on the weekend.
And then one day, when the leaves were starting to turn and the days were getting cooler, Dan didn't pick up.
Duck couldn't swallow. It was like something was wedged in his throat. Panic, maybe? Whatever it was, it was stupid: he knew Dan was fine. Dan was happy. Dan wasn't going to do anything. But still… Duck had to wipe his mouth on his handkerchief three times on the way home, because he couldn't swallow his own spit.
The first thing he noticed was that Dan's car was gone. That made Duck forget about his throat, and he swallowed. Dan hadn't used the car for over a month. In fact, after parking it there the day he'd moved in, he hadn't driven it at all. Dan never went anywhere alone, except to Iggy's for his morning coffee, and he walked there. Duck stared at the space where Dan's car wasn't, and tried not to think of all the ways someone could die behind the wheel of a car. After a moment he shook his head and went inside to see if Dan had left a note, and that was when the telephone started ringing.
"Hello," Duck said, all the time thinking, Don't let it be bad news, it's not bad news. Fuck.
"Hi, Duck," Dan said, "it was cold this morning, so I took the car when I went to Iggy's, and it broke down. Any chance you could tow it back?"
"Sure. I'll be there in five minutes." Duck's voice sounded normal to his ears. His heart was still racing.
Duck didn't remember putting the handset down. He didn't remember anything until he pulled up in front of Iggy's and Dan came out of the door and waved at him. Dan looked happy. He was holding a muffin, and there were crumbs on his shirt.
"Hey," Duck said.
"Hey," Dan said back, smiling, and suddenly Duck was okay. A little shaky from the leftover adrenaline, but otherwise fine. He got the tow rope from the back of the truck and squatted in front of Dan's car.
"So what happened?"
Dan winced. "I forgot about the oil. I think I fried the engine."
Duck was surprised: the car was pretty new, for Wilby Island. "No oil light?"
"Uh." Duck looked up and saw Dan blushing. "The oil light was on for a long time. I just… I didn't see the point in changing the oil, you know… before."
Of course. A dead man wouldn't need a well-oiled engine. And Dan hadn't driven the car since the summer.
"I just got used to the light being on," Dan said, staring at his muffin.
"Okay," Duck said. "You need to steer while I'm towing."
When the car was safely back on the small patch of cracked concrete in front of Duck's house, and Duck had Dan pressed against the side of the truck, and swollen-lipped from kisses, he thought to ask, "Why did you phone here?"
"Um, what?" Dan said, sliding his hands under Duck's shirt.
"You phoned here, how did you know where I'd be?"
Dan just smiled. "You were painting the Jenny Anne, and Gordie doesn't have a phone in his boathouse, but there's one at the head of the harbour, so I knew you'd walk up there when you took a break for lunch." Dan kissed Duck, a gentle press of lips. "And I knew you'd come home when I didn't answer."
Duck put his head on Dan's shoulder and smiled against his collarbone. "Oh."
"I'm fine. You know that, right? You don't need to worry about me."
"I know," Duck said, his face still pressed into the crisp cotton of Dan's shirt.
"But you do anyway." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah."
They held onto each other silently for a while, not kissing or doing anything that would land them back on the kitchen floor, or half in the truck's cab, or God forbid, sprawled out in the yard in front of God and anyone who came looking for someone to paint their house. Dan smelled like coffee and vanilla, and Duck was fairly sure he could stand here and just breathe Dan in all day, but eventually Dan twitched and Duck pulled away.
Dan climbed back into the truck. "Give me a ride back into town?"
Duck walked around and climbed in beside Dan. "You forget something?"
"There's a sale on cell phones at the mall. I thought I might get one." He looked over at Duck and smiled. "Just in case of emergencies."
Duck grinned, started the truck, and decided it wouldn't be so bad for people to be able find him without following the smell of paint.
The End
Fic title: Contact
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Prompt: Dan's car breaks down. Duck goes to get him.
Notes: Thank you to thepouncer, mousewrites and slashpile for convincing me that it didn't go wrong and spanking the bits that did back into shape. I have to admit, I didn't take all their advice, so if something is wrong, assume they told me and I'm just stubborn ;)
Contact
Duck didn't have a cell phone. The way he saw it, if anyone wanted to speak to him that badly, they'd be able to find him. If he wasn't at his house, he'd be with his truck, and his truck kind of stood out.
"Follow the smell of paint," Duck said, when someone asked him how to find him during working hours. Duck got used to seeing exasperation on people's faces.
Duck didn't ever consider getting a cell until Dan appeared in his life. Dan, with his long legs, shy smile, and self-destructive nature. Dan, who made Duck break all his self-imposed rules (Don't do married men. Don't do guys with issues. Don't do guys you could fall in love with.) without even asking him to. Dan arrived in Duck's life bruised and lost, with three changes of clothes and a pharmacy bag of anti-depressants, which he stopped taking the day he got out of the hospital.
Duck put Dan in the spare room, but he didn't stay there long. Duck had all these noble intentions, but he'd only got halfway through a clumsy 'when you're ready' speech when Dan lunged at him, and they ended up wriggling all over each other on the kitchen floor. At least until Dan thumped his head on the table leg and they decided that Duck's bed would be a better venue.
Duck grinned all the next morning, as he painted the north wall of the community centre. Then, while he was washing his hands and thinking about where to sit and have his lunch, the thought crossed his mind What if last night was just a happy memory to take with him? So he phoned home using the telephone in the community centre, and Dan was making a sandwich.
Worrying didn't come naturally to Duck. It wasn't something he'd done before, other than the ordinary concern you had for friends and neighbours. You made your choices and life went on. Things would go bad or they wouldn't; worrying about it wouldn't change things.
But there wouldn't be a 'life goes on' if Dan decided to finish what he'd started on the bridge and in Mrs French's living room. Not after what happened on the kitchen floor. Not after what had happened in the bed, and the shower, and on the couch, and in the cab of the truck. Plenty of bad things had happened to Duck through the years, but he knew losing Dan would break him. So Duck worried quietly and phoned home whenever he got the chance. Not to check up on Dan, just to say hi, and ask if he wanted anything picked up on the way home, or remind him about the laundry, or ask him if he wanted to go fishing on the weekend.
And then one day, when the leaves were starting to turn and the days were getting cooler, Dan didn't pick up.
Duck couldn't swallow. It was like something was wedged in his throat. Panic, maybe? Whatever it was, it was stupid: he knew Dan was fine. Dan was happy. Dan wasn't going to do anything. But still… Duck had to wipe his mouth on his handkerchief three times on the way home, because he couldn't swallow his own spit.
The first thing he noticed was that Dan's car was gone. That made Duck forget about his throat, and he swallowed. Dan hadn't used the car for over a month. In fact, after parking it there the day he'd moved in, he hadn't driven it at all. Dan never went anywhere alone, except to Iggy's for his morning coffee, and he walked there. Duck stared at the space where Dan's car wasn't, and tried not to think of all the ways someone could die behind the wheel of a car. After a moment he shook his head and went inside to see if Dan had left a note, and that was when the telephone started ringing.
"Hello," Duck said, all the time thinking, Don't let it be bad news, it's not bad news. Fuck.
"Hi, Duck," Dan said, "it was cold this morning, so I took the car when I went to Iggy's, and it broke down. Any chance you could tow it back?"
"Sure. I'll be there in five minutes." Duck's voice sounded normal to his ears. His heart was still racing.
Duck didn't remember putting the handset down. He didn't remember anything until he pulled up in front of Iggy's and Dan came out of the door and waved at him. Dan looked happy. He was holding a muffin, and there were crumbs on his shirt.
"Hey," Duck said.
"Hey," Dan said back, smiling, and suddenly Duck was okay. A little shaky from the leftover adrenaline, but otherwise fine. He got the tow rope from the back of the truck and squatted in front of Dan's car.
"So what happened?"
Dan winced. "I forgot about the oil. I think I fried the engine."
Duck was surprised: the car was pretty new, for Wilby Island. "No oil light?"
"Uh." Duck looked up and saw Dan blushing. "The oil light was on for a long time. I just… I didn't see the point in changing the oil, you know… before."
Of course. A dead man wouldn't need a well-oiled engine. And Dan hadn't driven the car since the summer.
"I just got used to the light being on," Dan said, staring at his muffin.
"Okay," Duck said. "You need to steer while I'm towing."
When the car was safely back on the small patch of cracked concrete in front of Duck's house, and Duck had Dan pressed against the side of the truck, and swollen-lipped from kisses, he thought to ask, "Why did you phone here?"
"Um, what?" Dan said, sliding his hands under Duck's shirt.
"You phoned here, how did you know where I'd be?"
Dan just smiled. "You were painting the Jenny Anne, and Gordie doesn't have a phone in his boathouse, but there's one at the head of the harbour, so I knew you'd walk up there when you took a break for lunch." Dan kissed Duck, a gentle press of lips. "And I knew you'd come home when I didn't answer."
Duck put his head on Dan's shoulder and smiled against his collarbone. "Oh."
"I'm fine. You know that, right? You don't need to worry about me."
"I know," Duck said, his face still pressed into the crisp cotton of Dan's shirt.
"But you do anyway." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah."
They held onto each other silently for a while, not kissing or doing anything that would land them back on the kitchen floor, or half in the truck's cab, or God forbid, sprawled out in the yard in front of God and anyone who came looking for someone to paint their house. Dan smelled like coffee and vanilla, and Duck was fairly sure he could stand here and just breathe Dan in all day, but eventually Dan twitched and Duck pulled away.
Dan climbed back into the truck. "Give me a ride back into town?"
Duck walked around and climbed in beside Dan. "You forget something?"
"There's a sale on cell phones at the mall. I thought I might get one." He looked over at Duck and smiled. "Just in case of emergencies."
Duck grinned, started the truck, and decided it wouldn't be so bad for people to be able find him without following the smell of paint.
The End